A Family Found (12 page)

“Why?”

“You'll see shortly.”

While they worked, she moved to the window, almost totally obscured by slashing rain except when lightning illuminated the dismal scene outside. Kansas had ferocious storms, but she didn't know when she'd seen one as unrelenting as this. She shuddered to think what would happen to the river unless the rain let up soon.

She hoped the humor of the word game she had in mind would relieve some of the tension. “Turn your nouns and verbs facedown. When I pause and point to you, pull one from your pile and read it.” She fought off her concerns to proceed as normally as possible. “Once upon a time a large, old—” She pointed to Toby.

“Elephant.”

“—was lost in the woods and didn't know what to do. Finally he decided to—”

She smiled at Marcus, who said, “Dance.”

Once the giggles began, they continued throughout the duration of the story.

“Let's do it again, please?” Toby had apparently forgotten about the storm outside. “I have some good ideas for words.”

Marcus shot her a look, wise with understanding of the necessity for diversion. In this fashion the afternoon passed. Finally Toby raised the question she'd been avoiding. “We're not going home today, are we?”

“No, dear. We will have to wait for the storm to pass.”

“So we get to spend another night with you?” He beamed. “Yippee.”

After a cold dinner of biscuits, ham, cheese, pickles and the sugar cookies the boys had made earlier in the day, they huddled by the woodstove, blankets draped over their shoulders. Beauty lay on the floor, her head resting on Marcus's feet. “Tell us a story about when you were little like us,” Toby said.

“Yes,” Marcus agreed. “It's important to know a person's history.”

Sophie put her arms around each boy and drew them closer. “Once upon a time, I lived in Missouri near a big river. My father owned a gristmill, where he ground grain into flour with a huge millstone. I used to love going there and listening to the rumble of the wheel as the weight of the stone ground the grain. I was the youngest child. My two older brothers, Seth and Caleb, were heroes to me. They could ride, shoot, climb trees and fish. So when I was just a little girl, I decided I wanted to be like them.”

“Girls don't do that stuff,” Toby said.

“Maybe most girls don't, but I did. I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. My brothers thought it was funny that I wanted to tag along, but they took me anyway and taught me all kinds of things.”

“That was nice of them,” Marcus observed.

“It was. But I did nice things for them, as well. I cooked, cleaned the house and washed and ironed their clothes.”

“Wait. Even when you were a little girl, not like a, uh, woman?” Toby looked perplexed.

“Yes, even when I was barely tall enough to reach the pump and the stove.”

Toby grinned. “That's
really
little. Younger maybe than me.”

Marcus furrowed his brow. “But where was your mother? Didn't she do all those things?”

Sophie paused to gather her thoughts. She didn't want to upset the boys. “I had no mother.”

“No mother?” Toby exploded. “How did you get borned, then?”

“My mother died right after she gave birth to me.” Her throat clogged, and she was unable to continue.

“That's quite sad,” Marcus said. “You never even knew her, right?”

“Not in person, but I knew a great deal about her from stories my father and brothers would tell. They told me she was a wonderful mother. I'm sorry I never knew her.”

Toby patted her hand. “You're kind of like us. We don't got a mother, either.”

The steel in Marcus's voice took Sophie by surprise. “Oh, we have a mother, Toby. She just doesn't want us. I'll bet Miss Sophie's mother would've wanted her. I'm glad our mother left. I don't care if I never see her again.”

While Sophie ransacked her brain for a meaningful reply, Toby hung his head. “Sometimes I don't remember exactly what she looked like. Was she pretty?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I suppose, but what difference does it make? She's gone now.”

“Growing up without a mother is difficult,” Sophie began. “All three of us would like to have known a mother who told us stories and fussed over us. For some of us, life just doesn't turn out the way we think it's meant to.”

“Sometimes I get very angry,” Marcus said quietly.

“I don't blame you. It must've been so hard when she left.”

Marcus wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I don't understand what I did to her.”

She had never heard a more forlorn remark. “My dear boy, it wasn't your fault.”

Toby leaned closer, but she had eyes only for Marcus. “Then why did she leave?”

“I betcha you were naughty,” Toby suggested.

“No, Toby, neither you nor your brother bears any responsibility for what happened. When you are older, you will understand that relationships between adults can be complicated. Sometimes one person has a dream, but the other person cannot share it. God intends us to live our lives as the best person He created us to be, but sometimes we put ourselves in situations where it's hard for that to happen. I think perhaps your mother had to leave to find herself.”

“I miss not having a mother,” Toby said, snuggling even closer. “Maybe you could be our mother, Miss Sophie.”

Sophie's heart plummeted. She could not give these hurting little fellows any hope of such an outcome. “It's a little late for that, dear. What matters when one is disappointed is to go forward trusting that God will bring us to an even better place.”

“How can God do that when He took our mother away from us?” Marcus's tone was bitter.

Sophie gently took his face between her hands and guided it close to hers. “God did not take your mother away, nor does He punish anyone with such cruelty. Instead, it is God who has been with you two and your papa so that you can make a better life. God was present with my family through the years, and with the love of my father and brothers, I never felt alone.”

She could barely hear Marcus when he finally whispered, “I think Papa blames God.”

Sophie felt as though her heart had cracked in two. Such misunderstanding and pain for ones so young...and for a man still embittered by betrayal.

Even late into the night the rain beat down in torrents, but neither that sound nor Beauty's snores could silence her rioting thoughts. Her heart ached on behalf of these darling boys and the father who loved them so. Finally the downpour changed to a gentle drizzle. In the sudden lull she whispered to the God she hoped was listening.
Bless, O Lord, these innocent boys and their father that they may come to a place of peace, secure in their knowledge of Your love and care.

* * *

Brilliant sunshine and cloudless blue skies greeted Sophie when she woke the next morning. She dressed quietly, stoked the woodstove and mixed up pancake batter. Just as Marcus sat up, looking around and rubbing his eyes, Beauty raced to the door, and with a single yip alerted them just as a loud knock sounded. “You all right, miss?”

She'd know that loud, raspy voice anywhere. Grizzly. She opened the door, her arms raised in welcome. “My, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“You're not the first woman to tell me the ‘sore' part.” He reached down to hold Sarge. “You get through the storm all right? I notice the water came up close to your privy and barn.”

“Who's there?” Toby padded barefoot across the wooden floor.

Grizzly threw back his head and laughed. “Well, what have we here, little fella?”

Toby clung to Sophie's skirt. “Me and Marcus, we spent two nights here with Miss Sophie.”

Marcus, now dressed, came up to stand behind his brother. “My father knows you.”

“That he does. Tate Lockwood is a good man.”

“Please come in, Grizzly. We'll eat shortly and you'd be mighty welcome.”

As he stepped across the threshold, Beauty slipped past Sophie to join Sarge in the yard. Then after wolfing down their pancakes, the boys hurried outside to play with the dogs.

Only then did Grizzly lean forward and speak confidentially. “The river is way up. Some folks are stranded on the other side until the water recedes.”

“Tate?”

“Yes, miss. I figure those little ones will be a mite anxious when they learn that news.”

“And Tate will be beside himself.”

“I figure you could use a little outing today, so here's what I propose. I'm not much of a churchgoer myself, but I reckon after that gully washer, I could use a dose of the Almighty. How about I escort you and the boys down to the Tylers' for services. I notice you've got a cart out there.”

“I do.” She thought over the proposition. If the boys were still unable to go home, she needed to forestall their worry, and the church gathering, including other children, might be a useful diversion. Besides, she was anxious about her neighbors' well-being.

Later, after helping the boys wash up, Sophie picked up Sallie's reins and followed along behind Grizzly. It was fortunate that her stream had come no higher, but when they came alongside the river, overflowing its banks, she couldn't believe her eyes. Brush and limbs washed over the rocks, slowed only by large boulders or man-made barriers.

“Look, Miss Sophie.” Marcus pointed upstream to the wooden bridge that led to their home. “It's underwater.”

“How will we get home?” Toby's lower lip quivered.

“The water will subside, although it may take a day or two.”

“How can Papa get to us?”

Marcus straightened up. “Toby, he'll find a way. Maybe he'll have to cross at another point. We're safe with Miss Sophie.”

“But I want to see Papa.”

Before Sophie could say a word, Marcus put an arm around his brother's shoulders. “Papa will come for us. You'll see.”

Sophie allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. Apparently Marcus had registered her remark about the necessity of kindness. Yet in Toby's voice was proof of his anxiety.

She hoped the church service would get his mind off his worries. He was such a little boy to carry so much concern. At least he verbalized his. With Marcus, she was never sure what wounds festered beneath the surface.

* * *

Awake at dawn to survey the storm damage, Tate paced in a frenzy from window to door to window. Tree limbs scattered the earth, and in the distance he spotted debris hung up on the small portion of the bridge that was still above the waterline. The roar of river was audible even behind closed doors. He'd barely slept, worrying about Marcus and Toby. He knew Sophie would do everything in her power to keep them safe, but what did she know about the ferocity and unpredictability of mountain cloudbursts? As soon as it was feasible, he would find a safe place to cross the river and get to them. He had to assure himself that his sons were safe. The thought of losing them filled him with terror. What if they'd been playing near the streambed when the flash flood came? What if Sophie's cabin had been inundated? He couldn't bear imagining how terrified they must've been in a strange place during a wild deluge.

Over breakfast, Bertie had looked at him sympathetically. He didn't want her pity. “Fret not, sir. Miss Sophie will have known what to do.”

Miss Sophie. She could ride like a man, handle a firearm, discourage a bear and scale mountains. But did that qualify her to keep two frightened boys from panic? He sincerely hoped so.

Finally, after helping Sam and the others settle the animals and begin clearing the land, he saddled his strongest horse and set out upriver shortly after noon, noting with irony the serenity of the sky in contrast with yesterday's violence.

At the first point of entry into the river, seething waters discouraged him. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he realized he would have to ride even farther upstream, thus delaying his reunion with Marcus and Toby. Finally he came to a place where the river normally meandered through a flat stretch. Today there was no “meandering,” but riding up and down the water's edge, he decided this was his best chance of crossing. At first his horse balked, but with urgent spurring and guttural commands, Tate succeeded in getting his mount into the swirling waters. Once the horse realized his hooves could make contact with the riverbed, he valiantly fought the currents, resorting to swimming for only a few yards before again finding solid footing. As if sheer verbal exhortation could propel his steed forward, Tate leaned over his neck and let loose a string of commands—“Easy, fella” and “Go!”

Finally the horse emerged on the opposite bank, snorting and shaking off the icy water coating his body. “Good boy.” Tate exulted, halting long enough to catch his breath. Shivering, he reached in his pocket for the ham sandwich Bertie had pressed on him. “Now don't you go doing anything foolish,” she'd said to him as he left for the barn. He crammed a bite into his mouth and followed it with a long drink from his canteen. Then, figuring his horse had had sufficient rest, he nudged him forward in a steady trot until they reached a trail west of the Harpers' and Tylers' places. He calculated it would take him a little over an hour to reach Sophie's cabin.

Approaching his neighbors' small settlement, he was dumbfounded to see a number of horses, carts and buggies assembled in front of Jackson Tyler's place. Had there been a tragedy of some sort? Nearing the home, strains of music floated on the air, and he made out the words of “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past” and was immediately transported to the hard-backed pews of his childhood where his father's sharp elbow prodded him into wakefulness and the preacher's voice rained down jeremiads liberally laced with words like
sin
,
eternal punishment
and
hellfire
. In his boyish helplessness, it always felt as if he, a defenseless child, were being pounded by the preacher's oratory into worthless bits of flesh and bone.